


Sanctuary

by ushauz



Series: Safe Harbor [2]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-03
Updated: 2017-11-03
Packaged: 2019-01-28 18:43:15
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,630
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12612980
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ushauz/pseuds/ushauz
Summary: In which Justice has a long day, but Hawke exists, and that helps.





	Sanctuary

For the longest time, Justice had worried that they had merged wrong, that he had failed and had truly possessed Anders, no different than a demon. But then Anders had done something on his own, said lines that hadn’t come from Justice’s own thoughts. It had been so very relieving. In time, they learned how to give each other privacy, how to sink back to where only one is in control. Justice does that more often than Anders, both out of frustration with progression happening so slowly in the mortal world, and also because he is merely a guest in Anders’ body, no matter how often Anders tries to convince him otherwise.

Distinctions are easier when they are conflicted, or when one of them has an overwhelming emotion the other does not. They share a mind, think the same thoughts, and yet at the same time there is a separate place for each that neither can access. It took years to figure themselves out, to be able to point where Anders is and where Justice is, and still there are days when they forget which one they are.

So he knows that Anders is right there in his skin, talking to people with Justice, some of the same thoughts running through them both. He knows this.

“I’m just saying Anders, you may want to use more discretion in the future,” Aveline says haughtily.

“I will likely not,” Justice says dryly. He is not Anders, and according to others, discretion is not ‘his thing’ in the first place.

Aveline narrows her eyes. “I don’t know how long Varric can keep the Carta off your back.”

They are together a Fade spirit and a powerful mage. They have survived over a dozen Templars as well as being run through the heart of which they had barely even noticed. “Somehow, I think I will survive.”

“Fine. Ignore my concern.”

“I sincerely doubt it is concern that you are feeling,” Justice says.

Aveline huffs before storming out of their clinic.

Neither Justice nor Anders like Aveline. It is a mutual feeling on their part, and then once again on Aveline’s part. There is an overlap of instinctive reactions to guards and people in charge who will inevitably turn Anders in, and then a woman who turns a blind eye to a number of injustices when it does not uphold the law. Between the two of them, this dislike is amplified into levels bordering on pettiness.

Justice does not like feeling petty. It is not fair, and arguably there are more unjust members in the party. Isabela is a thief and a liar. However, Isabela is nice to Anders, and though she rolls her eyes and scoffs at Justice, she still sees Justice as a person, and thus he feels himself becoming biased towards her. It does not help that Isabela reminds them both somewhat of Anders before they joined. Justice knows he is unfortunately biased in matters surrounding Anders, as much as he hates to admit it, as it shows an imperfection in his pursuit which holds disturbing connotations.

But how can he not love Anders?

He had not realized in Vigil’s Keep how many mortals do not view spirits as actual people, and he aches. Further, Isabela doesn’t try to convince him to ‘play nice’ with Aveline as well, at least beyond the temporary truce. Although Isabela hasn’t told any of them when the truce will be over, and the more time passes, the more Justice is starting to wonder if she has tricked them all on purpose.

He misses her. Perhaps she will come back permanently one day.

From his time merged with Anders, Justice has learned that at times a touch of seemingly selfishness is a natural progression for people who have suffered a great abuse, having to relearn that they themselves are allowed pleasure. It is not his pursuit, normally overseen by Joy, but Justice tries to understand regardless as it overlaps with his own pursuit, to understand why some do not focus on seeking justice of their own.

It does not stop it from bothering him, but he tries to think of it as other spirits pursuing different paths. At the same time, Isabela is not Freedom. Reminding himself of this makes it harder and easier in equal measures. Though she tends to put herself first, she cares far more than she lets on, and even Anders once had problems seeing his own issues as problems he could solve.

Justice feels strange, weird ripples from Anders at those thoughts. Guilt? But there is nothing to feel guilt over, not with Anders having sacrificed his old dreams for higher pursuits. Anders is one of the most noble souls he knows.

Unease grows inside of him, catching in his lungs.

At times like those, he wants to pull Anders close to him, talk to him directly, soothe away his distress. Yet at the same time, the idea of being separate fills him with anxiety. He loves Anders fiercely and wants to do everything for him.

He wishes they can be both, to merge and separate at will. They are still attempting to figure out how to be two in the Fade instead of just one but have had little success, and Justice yearns for the ability to directly talk to Anders.

To kiss him breathless.

At the complete lack of discord within himself at that thought, it is safe to assume this is something Anders wishes as well.

—

“Oh come on,” Varric says, leaning towards him. “Just give me something. Craziest thing you ever saw. Craziest thing your Commander ever saw. Craziest person you ever met.”

“You seem persistent about this,” Justice says, skirting around the issue. Recalling information from those months where they knew each other but were separate is confusing at best, painful at worst.

“You’ve seen so much!” Varric says. “There’s bound to be good stories ripe with inspiration in there. Craziest monster you ever saw?”

The Mother, a vile injustice committed to the poor woman, and then injustice committed by her when she regained fragments of sanity. Then her new creation, the Children, and the disturbing implications of how far they found those fleshpods. Brosca had asked them to not tell anyone, wanted to keep it a secret from the public to avoid panic, and also to protect the awakened darkspawn who merely wanted to retreat peacefully into the Deep Roads.

“I do not think I can speak of that,” Justice says.

“Oh come on!”

“I’m not going to break my promises to the Wardens, not more than I already have.”

“Ugh,” Varric says. “You’re starting to sound like your passenger.”

“He’s standing right here you know,” he says, having long since resigned to referring to himself in the third person. “We are the same.” It is wrong because they are not the same person, not truly. They overlap and share and expand the other, but they are not the same. Justice at times still wants to help them understand, but Anders is tired of failing to explain to them how they work.

Varric rolls his eyes, and Justice feels hurt. He forgets when talking with him that Varric is talking to Anders, that all of his warmth and friendship are for Anders but not for him.

He retreats somewhat, lets time blur around him. He is not a part of the conversation and does not want to inflict his bitter mood upon Anders who requires more socialization than Justice does. Varric is a good friend to him after all, gives him aid and protection and is a willing ear for any of his problems. Anders’ problems, that is, not his.

The day continues as such. People talk to Anders, and Justice stews in the background. He is being unreasonable. The two of them have long since come to the agreement to front as Anders. It makes conversations easier and stifling in equal measures.

After, they return to their work, or what is left of it. This does little for his mood, because the work they had poured themselves into of late had been shattered.

They had stepped out of the mage underground a while ago but had been encouraged by Hawke to rejoin, even if only on the sidelines. There had been a long plan in the making, to pull out as many at-risk apprentices as possible in one movement. There had been cover stories, false willing families scattered across Thedas that had been checked over and over again for safety, multiple means of transport out of the city. It required the use of their few Templar allies far beyond their normal duties. Smugglers, innkeepers, traveling merchants, farmers. Everyone could be of use.

The Templar duty roster had been carefully altered for their allies to be on guard, and one by one they pulled out as many apprentices as they could while the entire phylactery room was sabotaged.

None had realized the extent of Meredith’s paranoia who had in secret created secondary phylacteries for every apprentice, for every mage in the Gallows, blood taken while they slept, with only a close few who knew of their existence.

Countless died, and countless more were exposed. The rest are currently hiding and keeping their heads low, trying to protect what is left of their operations and regroup.

And so there is the clinic. It is a good cause as well. He tries to hold onto this, that it _is_ good, that they are aiding those that no one else will help while showing that magic can aid mortals. But seeing the same person come in yet again with yet another horrific injury, working conditions never being fixed, _cheaper_ to leave things as they are and hire more workers when others died?

It is work worth doing, he attempts to remind himself. It is good. And- perhaps with the underground currently quiet, if he could look into some of the mining operations on his spare time-

—

They eventually close the clinic for the day. Home, now, is the Hawke estate. Hawke has a private room for all of his friends regardless of how much the rooms are made use (though theirs is mostly used as a study now). The cellar, however, is used as a storage area for medicine and bandages, spare clothing, forged documents for escaped mages. A few times it has housed escaped mages themselves.

Hawke says he remembers all too well scrambling for every last coin, the constant hunger in the earlier days before he had established his place among the smugglers, the fear he had over what could happen to Bethany. By all accounts Hawke had been a very lucky refugee, but not Bethany.

They should have offered to go. Guilt tugs at him, catching on all the bitter emotions that have been brewing.

Justice pulls the key out from his robes, pausing for a moment to feel it. He traces it with a finger, traces the memory of Hawke giving it to him with a shy smile. It is a deceptively simple gift that sang of love and protection, of ideas of family, trust and yearning and concern.

Extravagant gifts still make him feel uneasy, especially when Anders is working with the clinic surrounded by so many who yearn for the most basics of survival. Yet things Justice knows he longs for are still met with disquiet, unease, and then issues of worth will dance around in his mind. Justice feels it is safe to assume that these arise from Anders, not himself, and will puzzle when he finds himself saying that it is Justice who is uncomfortable with these things.

There are small rings, enchanted pieces of jewelry, useful enough to not justify selling them. Flowers, but before Leandra’s death. Small things transformed into symbols from intent and emotion, rituals of affection. Before he was cautious, worried that contact would erase the symbol, make them into just rings again, but they remain infused with the impression of Hawke’s love, flickers of memory of Hawke thinking of them, presenting them with such things.

Even before, even when they had thought it was just Anders that Hawke loved, Justice had tried to persuade him into accepting these tokens and became distressed when Anders refused them.

He finds himself paused in thought, tracing a ring over and over and over, the secondary imprint of affection floating through his mind. It is soothing.

He heads through the cellar passage and makes sure to at least wipe his boots before walking into the house proper. He does not wish to add to Orana’s duties more than necessary. He intends to slip through to their room, to try to find something to stop himself from fraying, to just succeed at _something_ -

But Hawke is there in the room already, sitting with his back to a bookcase, book in his hands and ignoring the chair beside him. He looks up as they enter with an easy smile.

“Hey. How are you two doing?” Hawke asks, and something in Justice releases. Two. There are _two_ of them. Justice exists. He is _real_ , or at the very least, more than that annoyance who lives in Anders' head.

Hawke stares at his face and frowns. He rises to his feet, drops the book ungracefully, and walks over, interlocking his fingers in theirs. “Long day?” he asks, pulling them closer.

“Yes,” Justice says. He presses his forehead against Hawke’s, savors the physical contact, the sensation of his skin humming.

Fingers are such fragile things, so easily broken or crushed. Justice is hyper-aware of the contact, but the sheer amount of trust Hawke places in him—with himself below and the two of them above, lightning crackling in their hands—is heady. He will not betray this.

Hawke tugs him in for a very welcome kiss by all participants. And while Justice does not think of Hawke as a surrogate, it is still far easier to kiss Hawke than Anders. He still does not know if the desire for more physical affection is an extension of his own upon obtaining a physical form or if it originates from Anders, nor does Justice know if he entirely cares.

“Do you need some time off?” Hawke asks after pulling back.

“No,” Justice says, perhaps too strongly, and immediately feels conflicted by the thought before a stronger surge of confliction hits him right after.

“One of those days then,” Hawke says. He pauses for a moment. “If you want, you can just work on making some of those medicines for your clinic. One of those endless chores and all, and I can hang around. Or maybe read to you? There’s this hilarious story that I’ve been meaning to share, but I know you don’t have a lot of free time widely available with all of your dashing heroism and noble causes and whatnot.”

“I would love your company,” Justice says warmly, already feeling himself settle. Something to do, something he can complete that will have direct improvement, while having Hawke’s company at the same time. He feels complete agreement of this from Anders. This is better.

“I’ll go fetch the book then.”

“Is it not that one?” Justice asks, pointing to the book on the floor.

“What? Oh no, not that one,” Hawke says with a lovely laugh. “That’s Varric’s newest novel. I am being a good friend and supporting his work, and that requires actually reading it.” He pauses for a moment. “He might actually be a good writer someday. Just might need some more work. Meet you in your study?”

Justice finds himself pulling in Hawke for one more kiss before letting him go. For the first time in the long day, he finally feels calm.


End file.
